


Touchdown

by AceCade (puppyfacedbrokenboys)



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, M/M, reporter!Blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppyfacedbrokenboys/pseuds/AceCade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine, a SportsCenter reporter, is witness to the last-second, game-winning touchdown of the most historical Super Bowl game in NFL history. He has to interview the inappropriate running back that won the game, Noah Puckerman, that he equally hates and has a thing for. Somehow, Blaine ends up with a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touchdown

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the World Series last night. There was a very short reporter with a bowtie interviewing the players… and this was born, haha. I'm not totally happy with this, but I tried.
> 
> I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT FOOTBALL, SO THE FOOTBALL STUFF IS PROBABLY WRONG. I did a little research, so I tried to make it as correct as possible. I am so sorry in advance. But who cares, right? XD

“Overtime: 20 seconds left, 40 yards to the end zone. Giants are one touchdown away from winning the closest game in SuperBowl history. A four year winning streak is about to become five, or end. It’s do or die time,” Blaine Anderson announced into his handheld camera.

He was doing double duty tonight. He was a reporter for SportsCenter, as well as filming a documentary about the record-breaking SuperBowl winning streak that the New York Giants have produced.

The score was tied 35-35. No one had scored in the previous 14 minutes and 40 seconds. It had been the most grueling battle of tackles Blaine had ever seen. Somehow, whenever the Giants lost possession of the ball, in the next play it was back in their hands.

Blaine spun the camera around, leaning forward in his seat in the press box. Ten seconds and he would be rushing onto the field with the other reporters, fighting their way to the players to get the first interviews. He knew this well, having been a part of this madness for the past four years. What more could a young reporter—only 4 years out of the gate—ask for?

Blaine held his breath as the players took their places on the field. He zoomed in, making sure to keep as much of the field in sight as possible, but still close enough to see the action. Everyone in the stadium seemed to be doing the same, holding their breath so that the stadium seemed to be eerily silent. It was chilling and exhilarating at the same time.

Blaine lived for these moments.

Before Blaine knew it, the center had passed the ball to the Quarterback, and the game was in motion. A running back swept up the middle, not even turning back as the Quarterback snapped the pigskin, and the ball seemed to float into his waiting hands.

10 seconds left.

The running back rushed through, barreling through players until he reached the end zone just as the buzzer sounded that time had run out.

The stadium erupted in the most ear-splitting roar of sound Blaine had ever heard.

Standing in the middle of the end zone was Number 14. He threw the ball down, and proceeded to do a victory dance, complete with a crotch chop, followed by a sway and then the sprinkler. Blaine had zoomed in so far that he had managed to catch it all, laughing behind the camera.

“Okay, go!” Just as the dude was tackled to the ground by his teammates in celebration, Blaine took his chance and shot from his seat while the rest of the press around him were hugging, cheering, and celebrating themselves. He sprinted as fast as he could to get onto the field, his cameraman right behind him. He managed to trip over only a few people in his journey, keeping his camera poised in front of him. It was going to make the audience of his documentary sick to their stomachs from all the bobbing, but it was totally worth it to get there first.

As the team’s celebration turned more towards a mob in the middle of the field, Blaine caught sight of Number 14 getting up slowly from his spot on the ground. His helmet was off, revealing a wide toothed grin, a matted down Mohawk from the helmet, and a very attractive face.  _Blaine, not now._

Only waiting for the dude to pull himself upright, Blaine took his chance, intercepting the player’s beeline for the rest of his team. “Puckerman, got a minute?” Blaine asked quickly with a grin. He reached out, ignoring the way his stomach flipped as the player’s grin was turned on him, and doubly ignoring how the player’s fingers seemed to linger on his from their handshake.

Blaine took it in stride, though. This seemed to happen a lot, and it could mean nothing. He was a professional, through and through. “I’m Blaine Anderson from SportsCenter.” He raised his camera clad-hand, nodding his head to it. “Documentary about the Giants’ winning streak. I’d like to do a personal interview after the SportsCenter one, hope that’s okay.”

Puckerman’s smile turned into a smirk, making Blaine swallow a little. “Sure, man. Always a pleasure for you.” And the guy actually winked.

 _Yes, he’s very attractive, you know this. You’ve had a thing for him for a while. Cut it out, Anderson_.  _He’s an asshole, remember?_

The thing was, every time Blaine interviewed this guy, things had always taken an undertone of a sexual nature. You’d think Blaine would be used to it by now. His job is his job, he had to stay professional. But after the first flirtatious smile and the lingering brush of his hand on Blaine’s side during their first interview, Puckerman had progressed his touching up a notch every year since. And Blaine just couldn’t stop the spike of pleasure that it shot through his body every time.

Soon the camera was rolling, and Blaine was speaking. He kept his tone professional, asking the most generic of questions that touched on Puckerman’s thoughts of the game, the fact that they were now five year SuperBowl champions. During their interview, Puckerman had managed to grab his ass subtly out of frame a few times, not even seeming to move his arm at all. Blaine managed to roll it off each time, as not to alert the television audience that anything unprofessional was happening. But from the way the camera man was frowning, he had seen it. And the twitch of Puckerman’s smirk was the only reaction from the player.

Blaine’s breaking point was the hand splayed across his lower back, rubbing circles over his coat. He quickly ended the interview, wishing Puckerman and the Giants another year and more success on the behalf of SportsCenter, signing off with his name, and then the camera was off. The cameraman gave him a look, and then went to wait a ways away until it was time for another interview.

Blaine didn’t know whether to thank him or to tell him not to go. This could end badly. Good thing he managed to stop recording from his camera.

Blaine spun on Puckerman with a dark look. Blaine had always been a small guy, and he didn’t particularly look menacing in his khakis, sweater vest over a button down, bowtie, and open peacoat. But Blaine had finally hit a last growth spurt out of college, so he was only an inch shorter than Puckerman. He saw the smirk falter a little as he took in Blaine’s fiery eyes.

“Okay, hot shot. I’ve tolerated this inappropriate touching for five years now, and this has got. To. Stop,” Blaine blurted through clenched teeth, thankful for the loud noise of the stadium around them. If anyone overheard, there would be trouble. Blaine just hoped that no one took notice of the fact that Blaine seemed to be in Puckerman’s face in a fit of rage.

Puckerman’s smirk grew, taking on a predator-like feel as he leaned even closer to Blaine. “Oh, yeah? And what are you gonna do about it,  _Blaine Anderson_?” he sneered, making Blaine involuntarily shudder as the sound of his name being purred washed over him. Puckerman knew he had Blaine where he wanted him.

“Well, seeing as I very well can’t punch that infuriating smirk right off your fucking face—”

“Ha, you know you don’t want to do  _that_ to this face,” Puckerman countered.

“—without being fired,” Blaine continued as if Puckerman had not said that inappropriate, but nevertheless true, comment, “I will ask you to please stop so we can just get through this interview for my documentary and go our separate ways.” He narrowed his eyes at the player until Puckerman backed down, composing himself as the elated player that just scored the winning touchdown of the SuperBowl.

“That’s better. Now, ready?” At Puckerman’s nod, Blaine turned on his camera and spun his body around to stand next to the player in order to get both of them in the shot. He stood a safe distance away, making sure no body parts were touching, and smiled at the camera. “Here I am with Noah Puckerman, the running back that scored the last-second, game-winning touchdown for the Giants. Noah,” Blaine said, sliding away from the player and back behind the camera, “that was some touchdown. You managed to barrel your way through the other team for 20 yards, how did you do it?”

And from there, the interview continued in a very professional manner. The interview went from generic questions like his SportsCenter interview to the more in depth questions about Noah’s training and how he kept his head in the game when the crowd was roaring, to how he managed not to crack under pressure.

Noah kept as much eye contact with Blaine as possible, making Blaine want to melt into the floor and cringe away at the same time. Noah praised his coaches, his teammates, and the fans for all of his success, and he laid special emphasis on the fact that even though his body was larger than most running backs, he was light and fast on his feet. “Result of being a punk growing up. You had to watch your back in the neighborhoods I grew up in,” Noah said.

Huh, maybe there was an actual soul behind the asshole that Blaine had previously come to know the man as.

The interview was broken by the announcement that Noah had won MVP and he had to go to the middle of the field to accept his trophy. Blaine hadn’t realized how much he had hogged the player of interviews until then. He quickly wrapped up the interview by asking quickly how it felt to win MVP and was pleased that he would be the first to get the dude’s reaction. Noah whooped and when Blaine looked closer to the man’s face, he could see the tears of joy shinning slightly in his eyes.

After wrapping up the interview quickly and turning off his camera, Blaine was turning away when Noah grabbed his arm. “Hey, wait,” Noah began, but at the glare to his hand from Blaine, Noah retracted his hand as if he had been burnt. “Hey, easy Tiger. I’m sorry, I really am for acting like such an asshole. I know this is a bit forward, but would you like to go out for a drink or something after all this craziness dies down? I think I owe you one night, at least. As a gentleman,” Noah added.

When Blaine looked up, Noah seemed hopeful. His brown eyes were shining, glistening a little from the aftereffects of the tears under the stadium lights. The smirk was replaced by a small, tentative smile. Blaine bit his lip for a second, making a split decision that he’d probably regret but couldn’t just let go of.

“I guess I could do that. One condition,” Blaine said reluctantly.

“Anything,” Noah seemed to breathe desperately.

“I pick the place.” Blaine threw him a smirk of his own.

“I can work with that,” Noah answered with a wink. “Just… meet me at the locker room?” At Blaine’s protest, Noah shook his head and slipped a laminated pass into the man’s hands. “Got it covered. Flash this and you should be golden.”

Blaine stared at the pass in his head, stunned. “Go get ‘em, hot shot,” Blaine called a beat later at Noah’s retreating back. He looked up to see Noah flash him one last smile over his shoulder, jogging slowly to the center of the field to accept his award.

“God bless football,” Blaine said with a sigh as he saw Noah grab up his award and press a kiss to the cold metal. He turned his back on the field, smiling to himself as he made his way to the locker room.

Tonight would be a night to remember.


End file.
